


A Wrench and a Hammer

by ninamazing



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003), Firefly
Genre: Community: bsg_pornbattle, Crossover, F/M, Plot What Plot, bsg_pornbattle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-24
Updated: 2009-10-24
Packaged: 2017-10-03 00:59:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamazing/pseuds/ninamazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I mean it," he said. "</i>Where<i> did you </i>come<i> from?"</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wrench and a Hammer

"Oh, for the love of frakking gods, if someone would get me some sealant for this pipe before my frakkin' hand falls off," Tyrol drawled from underneath a Viper, unaware that only one person was listening. "It's not exactly easy, holding this joint together."

"You're at the wrong angle for it," said a voice, and before it had finished its young and pretty owner was crawling low and straddling him. She twisted, reaching up to pry his fingers one-by-one from the pipe as she sealed it. He watched her tongue sweep the curve of her mouth as she worked — there wasn't anywhere else for his eyes to go, really — and when she finished at last and dropped the sealant bottle she fell right against his arm.

He kept his hand on her hip to steady her as she righted herself, and tried not to notice the half-dozen different ways she pressed against him when she twisted the bottle cap back on.

"Uh, thanks," he said, and she grinned.

"We'll come back in a few hours and see if it's cured." Her hair was fluffed, wild; in a weird way it matched the brightness of her creek-water eyes as they darted over the coolant tank. "I'd epoxy it again if I were you."

"Where did you come from?" he asked slowly, and smiled. He still hadn't moved his hand, and she pressed one of hers over it now as she set the bottle next to his head and leaned down.

"Space," she said, and giggled. Her giggle was almost worse than her eyes — for certain definitions of "worse," Tyrol thought fuzzily.

"I'll go ahead and get off you now if you'd like," she offered.

"Oh, I'm willing to wait with you if you want to watch this thing cure," he told her.

He'd planned to wink, but she did it first.

"Sounds like fun," she said, and kissed him before he had time to prepare, before he had time to move his hand up her back; and anyway, when he did she just reached to take his forearm and slipped it under the line of her shirt. The small bones of her spine felt warm and powerful against his palm. She pressed her hips close against his and thrust, once, so that his other hand dropped to her ass and pulled her closer.

She lifted her head slightly and giggled again, into his mouth.

"I mean it," he said. "_Where_ did you _come_ from?"

"I'm a civvie," she said, nudging his nose with hers. Her fingers were twined through his hair, rubbing his head in a way that would have made him sleepy if he weren't half-hard. "They were asking for people who could tell the difference between a wrench and a hammer."

"Please tell me that wasn't the only question they put to you before they tossed you in my hangar bay," he replied, smirking.

She pushed his shoulders gently to the ground and tongued the skin below his ear, nipping twice with her teeth as she rocked her body on top of him. "Worked, didn't it?" she murmured. "Didn't I fix your bird?"

"Yes, you did," he growled, cupping her breasts with his hand. "You really did. Welcome to the team."

"Thanks," she said, undoing his zipper with promising dexterity. He let her slip it off him and then tugged at her belt loops, pulling her forward. She leaned into his hand, helping him, and then she tipped off her shirt and was on top of him again, smiling and kissing him and so very almost bare.

"Sideways," she whispered when they stopped to catch their breath, and slipped away. He turned to face her back and she snuggled into his arms, pulling one hand to her lips to kiss it. Her hair smelled like dust and coolant and woman; when he nuzzled her her lips were hot against his thumb and the whole length of her body against his seemed wet, sweaty, wanting. She let out a soft little sigh when he touched her, fingering the easy slickness between her legs, already imagining the cloying, addictive taste of her. She drew one finger into her mouth — he nearly lost it — and he took his hand away so that he could guide himself inside her. She was even more inviting than he'd imagined, this girl he'd met when she clambered on top of him and cured a Mark II engine by touch.

"Good?" he asked, low and close to her ear. The little mechanic arched, and the cadence of her laugh was lightheaded.

"Yes," she said. "Mmm. My name's Kaylee, by the way."

"Kaylee," he said, gathering her closer against him, running his hand along her thigh to the top of her hair. She shivered.

"You ever flown on a battlestar before?" he asked, listening. Her gasps were guiding him to her clit in record time.

"N — never," she breathed. "I'm excited."

"I'll bet you are," he said, and her giggle broke off into a moan. She moved sweetly next to him, back and forth against his fingers and his cock, and he wasn't sure if she was burning or out-and-out vaporizing him with the scent from her skin and the tickle of her hair and the urgent growls from the back of her throat. He grunted, too, rocking against her, rubbing her harder and feeling desperately that he was almost out of time. And then she shook in his arms and surged into him; she grabbed his hand from between her legs and licked herself off, two fingers first and he was gone. _Kaylee._ The tiny sweet mechanic who'd come from space.

He closed his eyes for what felt like a second, and opened them to her smile and those bright eyes.

"You've got a smudge on your cheek," she said, giggling.


End file.
